


Learning to Fly

by moon_opals



Series: Hearth & Home [2]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017), TaleSpin (TV)
Genre: Baloo is a dad through and through, Family Feels, Found Family, Freeform, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-13 10:48:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18467404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_opals/pseuds/moon_opals
Summary: “Learning to fly is a leap of faith,” Baloo declares.Della skepticism shows. "Starting your teaching career with a shot in the dark," she says.He knows she's going to be great one day, just as soon as she learns how to fly.





	Learning to Fly

**Author's Note:**

> I've been on a TaleSpin binge recently. DuckTales 2017 has mentioned Cape Suzette no less than three times already, possibly four or five if I'm not mistaken. I couldn't shake this idea out of my head.

“Uncle Scrooge said you’re going to teach me how to fly.”

Baloo coughs, uncomfortable. “When you asked for flying lessons,” he scratches under his hat, other hand on his hip, “I thought you meant yourself.”

Mr. McDuck is the richest duck in the world. Cold. Hard. Frugal. All of this Baloo spots the moment he sets foot on the harbor, but with a chuckle, his hardness softens. “Oh no,” he pats his chest, “I have no interest in it meself, but this young lass,” he gently pushes the child forward, “is an avid aviator admirer.”

Baloo glances down. She barely reaches his knees, but her height doesn’t hide the fire in her glare and the hunger in her heart. He measures Mr. McDuck’s stare, which doesn’t take much since he reaches a foot below his stomach, and decides this eccentric multi-trillionaire is serious, as is the little girl standing in front him.

“Guess I’ve got no choice now,” he takes his hat off, getting on bended knee. “It’s nice to meet ya, kid.” He extends his hand, patient as the child studies his massive grip.

But then, she smiles. No, Baloo amends, she smirks, and beneath soft feather lies equal fierceness. A part of him is surprised, and its larger counterpart, impressed. Offense doesn’t come at him. He doesn’t understand why, but he expects this from a kid like her, he thinks. In the throes of his laughter, he hears hers. Bright. Shimmering. Mad. He releases her and steps back, hands on his lower back, and there it is, promise. His decision is easy.

“Mowgli said you were the best teacher,” she says.

“And the cheapest,” Mr. McDuck adds.

“Ah, Little Britches always ate more than he could chew,” he looks away, happy fur cannot carry a blush. “Wish he’d stop advertising my teaching and worked on my cargo company.”

Mr. McDuck’s brow folds neatly, hardness returns. “You should be appreciative,” he snaps calmly. “Considering your piloting is the only good thing about your business.”

The girl grimaces and glares over her shoulder. “Uncle Scrooge,” she scolds. “He’ll drop me with that attitude.”

“Aw, don’t worry.” He straightens his cap, “Your uncle’s paying a good fee, and as long as that’s coming, you’ve got yourself a teacher.” It seems cruel in the moment, but he’s six months behind on his loan payments. He doesn’t need to admit this. Mr. McDuck’s shrewd glare tells Baloo he’s aware. He laughs again, not out of nervousness as people usually do in Scrooge McDuck’s presence, but amusement. Humor and admiration fall in the same line of thought.

He fixes his cap and crosses his arms. “Alright, Airhead,” he says. “You’ve got yourself a teacher.”

“Really?”

There’s something about her smile.

“Really really.”

“Aye, fantastic. See, Della? I told you I’d find a teacher.”

"You found the cheapest one," she bites back quietly, but she's obviously pleased. She returns to him, and Baloo marvels at her smallness. He isn't used to ducks. Cape Suzette does that to a guy, and the world is so much smaller to him when he's in the sky. But there’s something big, large, overwhelming about her.

“Learning to fly is a leap of faith,” Baloo declares, proudly.

Della's skepticism shows. "Starting your teaching career with a shot in the dark," she replies, grinning wryly. 

Baloo roars, swiping his leg as his lungs contract and expand painfully. "It worked last time," he wheezes, wiping a tear out of his eye.

Mr. McDuck isn't amused, but seems satisfied.

They seem to know she's a great in the making.

* * *

She’s a natural disaster. A true, natural disaster, and it says a lot. Only Baloo has referred to himself in such a manner. She is far from the perfect pilot, but there’s something Baloo sees he hasn’t in some time.

“I’m not a book reader,” she admits, sullenly. They’ve docked at the harbor, feet dangling over the deck’s edge. The Sea duck sits idly on the surface. She gazes longingly at the front. “Uncle Scrooge says knowledge is power. That you can only get rich when you think out of the box.”

Baloo sighs. It isn’t a dismal failure. Their day goes southwest, and they sit at the harbor, more disappointed than ever. As she holds her gaze to the front, Baloo tries not to look at the back of the plane. “Not too much damage, baby love,” he grimaces. But the tail is crunched, harsher than harsh. It looks like a crumpled ball of aluminum foil.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “Donald was right,” she whimpers, then sniffs. Baloo stomach sinks. “I’m Disaster Dumbella.”

Baloo chuckles.

She snatches at him, glaring.

“Oh come on,” he grins. “It’s a good one.”

Della wants to be mad. She is mad, but her beak quirks, spitting out a small laugh or two. It breaks apart. She leans forward, laughing, and she shakes her head, wiping her eyes just as Baloo presses his hand on her head.

“No one’s ever learned flying in a day.”

“But it’s been a month.”

“And your uncle’s paying by the hour,” he grins. “Look Airhead, you’re not gonna get it all in one go. Learning to fly, well,” he pauses, lips smacking thoughtfully, “it’s harder than it looks, but I think you get that part. So forget it. Forget everything else, and just fly.”

“Just fly,” she frowns, skeptical. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re a bird!”

“Not that kind of bird,” Della laughs.

“Cut that beeswax outta your ears, Airhead.” Baloo looks up, pointing to a flock of ducks flying overhead. “Yeah, we’ve evolved far from that, but you know? I still get the urge for a juicy termite every now and then.”

She grimaces, disgusted. “Baloo,” she rolls her eyes, “that’s gross.”

“It is!” He wraps an arm around her shoulders, “But it makes a point. I’m not like those other sloth bears. I’m bipedal, love to fly, and visit Louie’s every now and then.”

“I’m a duck, Baloo.”

“And you love to swim?”

“No,” she grins, “Donald does.” She sees the flock pass overhead, quacking in formation, “I want the skies. I want the blue and white and thunder and lightning.” She turns to him, “I want the unknown.”

Baloo swings his legs, smirking. “So do they, even though they don’t know it,” he says. “They fly off for the winter, never knowing what’s gonna come. A rainstorm? Hailstorm? It doesn’t matter. They know they gotta go, so they go.”

“I think they go for food, but I get your point.”

He stares at her. She stares back. Sharing a laugh, they turn to the Sea Duck waiting for them on the water.

“You’ve got a good idea of what ya’ need, kid,” Baloo stands, wiping his hefty bottom.

“But I wrecked it -,”

“You don’t want know how many times I did,” he dismisses. He walks to the aircraft, looking back to grin, “The sun’s still up, and we’ve got some time before your uncle comes to get ya’. How about we try again?”

“Not worried?”

“Nope,” he beams. “You’re going to get your wings. All pilots do.”

The sun beams down on them as the flock descends onto a pond in the public park.

* * *

Della earns her wings, as Baloo phrases it, when Don Karnage arrives with his airship. Cape Suzette’s air turret guns are electrified, struck to combust, and the city is under attack. She isn’t afraid, but Baloo sure is, determined to get her back to Duckburg.

Don Karnage infiltrates the fortified Cape Suzette using stone Khan Industries electric knobs. The cliff’s turret guns, infamous in the metropolitan area, that have protected the city for centuries are destroyed. It’s apparent the city is under attack. Baloo takes Della and throws her inside, commands her to buckle up and to not ask questions. She’s insistent they must stay. They have to fight. For Baloo, her safety takes priority.

“I’ll send you to your uncle,” he starts the engine. “You’ll be safe there.”

“Baloo,” she shouts, “I’ve faced worse with Uncle Scrooge!” A strike of lightning, unlike they have ever seen, crashes into a skyscraper. Horror fills their expressions as the building collapses within itself. It falls in stacks, like a tower of cardboard boxes. Screams of anguish sail to the skies.

“Please, Baloo,” Della cries.

He doesn’t listen.

But the skies are deaf too. They don’t have much of a choice when Don Karnage spots the retreating the craft, and they face a horde of angry air pirates. Trapped below, their sole companion is the tiniest member - a nephew, a son, no one knows, but he loves to sing and dance. Della makes short work of him, cuffing him to their cage, and winks as they make their escape.

“Sorry, dude,” she shouts over her shoulder.

“This won’t be the last time you hear of -,” the door slams shut behind them.

“Great.”

They fight. They win. It’s the typical story told in an atypical land, and Della does what no other has done. She sneaks into their main command and takes over the ship.

She flies.

She soars.

She crashes into the bay, but no one is hurt. She and Baloo escape, the machine is destroyed, and Shere Khan, for all his shades, appears grateful to have his work returned, and potentially destroyed. No one can know for sure. Scrooge arrives, more panic stricken than Della anticipates. She’s thrown into a tight embrace, one on each side before Baloo picks the three of them up.

“So this is Baloo,” Donald rasps.

“Yeah,” Della winces, smiling still. “He’s a hugger!”

“If he wants to get paid,” Mr. McDuck gasps, “he’ll think to let me go!”

* * *

It’s like this.

She doesn’t talk about them.

She keeps them in a box, a small box. A heart-shaped box. And she never touches it. She did initially, running two fingers on the surface. This was in the earliest days when their wounds were fresh, and Donald’s muteness was an unfortunate consequence. (Donald may follow the book, but Della follows her heart. And she doesn't want to hurt her brother more than he has already been.)

She asked Uncle Scrooge, just once. He answered her question in a surprised, befuddled manner, and reassured her she was free to ask more. But Della knew. The darkness radiated off him like a thick fog. His heart was ready to burst out of his chest cavity. Her first and last time asking, whatever happened to Mr. and Mrs. Duck.

“It’s just hard sometimes,” she buries her face into the crook of his neck. “I remember them. I remember them, and I don’t know where they are. Uncle Scrooge says they’re...somewhere, but no one knows where. So we’ve lived this for years, Baloo, and we’ll never know.”

He holds her as she cries. She’s small in his hold, smaller than he’s ever hold. He really isn’t used to ducks and smaller creatures, but he does his best. He lets her sob her pain into his fur, and he rubs her back comfortingly, aware no joke or tease will soften the blow of an orphaned child’s heart.

“Sorry, honey,” he says. “But I say they’d be mighty proud of you. Look at you, about to take your pilot examination in two weeks!”

She shakes her head. “They should be here,” she sobs. “They should be here to see it, Baloo.”

It’s a similar loss he hears, and to feel it in her bones, every dry heave and watery choke, pains him. He’s heard the tale in passing, suspecting Louie knows more than he lets (but that’s just how he is). He does what any good friend would do. He takes her upstairs and puts her to bed. She’s seventeen, and beside him, she looks like she’s ten. This means she must’ve appeared infantile when she was ten.

“What if I fail, Baloo,” she sets her arm over her eyes. “What if I fail?”

“You can take the test again, kid,” he pats her shoulder. “And no one’s passed it one go.”

“Amelia Airhead did.”

“She did a lot of things most folks couldn’t,” he pulls the blanket to her beak. “Rest kid, got a big day tomorrow.”

She sniffs. “Kay Papa Bear,” she rolls on her side, closing her eyes. “Thanks.” Her hair obscures her red blurred gaze, lowering to sleep. He sits and waits for her eyelids to meet, for even breaths to signify she’s flown to sleep.

* * *

“You know the saying, old friend, the 120th try is a charm.”

Baloo laughs despite her absurdity. “Sure, Airhead,” he fixes her goggles.

Della sticks her tongue out. “Your doubt wounds me,” she replies. “But,” she turns to the mirror, sending a wry grin, “I have my good luck charm.”

Baloo doesn’t question what she means. An excited babble coos in the crook of his curled arm, and drool drips onto his fur. He glances down, groaning, and raises the child up.

“Little Red, what did we talk about the drooling,” he puts forth his best stern expression. “If ya’ gotta drool, tell me something!”

“Baloo,” Della straightens her cap. “She’s not even one. She finds something furry and firm, she’s either going to drool on it or teethe or both!”

“She’s already done both!” But he can’t keep the firmness. He succumbs to cuteness. He puckers his lips and nuzzles his wet nose on the infant’s forehead. She giggles, gripping his fur.

“I still can’t believe it,” he gently pries the baby’s unusually strong grip off his snout. “Della and her baby.”

“And that’s why I’m going to pass,” another quick check and she faces them, proud. “The written exam always gets me. Once I pass that,” she snaps her finger and skips to them, “Mommy and Ofelia are going to go all over the world!”

The aforementioned soon to be toddler blows a raspberry as she reaches for her mom.

“And her uncle is okay with that?”

Della kisses her cheek. “Uncle Scrooge is counting the days for her first adventure. As soon as we’ve finished her vaccinations.”

Baloo smirks, pulls his head back. “That’s all well and good, but that isn’t the uncle I’m talking about,” he clarifies.

“Oh,” Della's beak twists up. “Donald will come around. He’s always been a worry duck. And my whittle Fefe is the toughest puppy duck around," she shrugs dismissively, doing her best to blow her doubts away.

“Puppy duck?”

She blushes. “A slip up,” she checks the window. “Wow, it seems the examiner is here.”

Baloo cradles Ofelia in his palm as he follows Della. “I still can’t believe they’ve sent the same guy every time. One hundred and twentieth indeed.”

“He knows what to expect,” Della gulps. “I really want it to go well this time. Uncle Scrooge is getting tired of paying the examination fee.”

“Mah,” Ofelia makes grabby hands for Della.

“Oh, sweetie,” Della sighs. “Mommy’s going to be right back, and when she returns she’s going to be a licensed pilot!” She kisses her forehead, turning her in Baloo’s direction, “Now, play with Baloo. He’s going to take really good care of you.”

“She’s farting on my hand.”

“Babies do that,” Della laughs, taking off to meet the examiner. “Remember Baloo, everything’s in the diaper bag!”

Baloo shakes his head, tsking, and looks down at the semi-infant burying her tiny claws into his fur.

“Woof,” he grins, “good thing your papa isn’t around to see this...again.” He chuckles and bounces her in his palm, “Lets go find Wildcat, probably stuck in an engine somewhere.”

Ofelia giggles and farts.

Baloo frowns, “You are one gassy tot, I’ll tell you that.”

* * *

“That - that worrying, wallowing wrecker of dreams!”

He whistles. "Fancy tongue-twister."

“Baloo!”

Ofelia points, drinking from her sippy cup. “Mommy mad, babies,” she pats the closest egg, smiling. “Mommy blows up!”

Baloo laughs, comfortable in a cushioned chair. “That she does,” he grins. “But this time, maybe she should cool down and rest that adrenaline junkie head of hers?”

“Don’t patronize me, Baloo,” Della spins, returning to her desk. It’s covered with old maps and schedules and doctor appointment listings. “Donald doesn’t understand. He never did. This is an adventure of a lifetime, and he wants to deprive our kids of that! It took me years to convince him to let Phooey join!”

They stare to the side where the toddler lies curled in front the nest of eggs, protective and firm, though adorable in her puppy position.

“Ah, Airhead,” Baloo stands, wincing as he hears a sharp pop in his back. “Donald just wants what’s best for the kids, that’s all.”

She opens a drawer, and slams an astronomy book on the desk. “I want what’s best for them too,” she flips through the pages. “They’d see the stars and new worlds and entire frontier that hasn’t been explored. We’d get to be the first, together, as a family. I can’t understand why he doesn’t get that.” She grabs a pen and marks the planets she intends to see first.

“You both want what’s best for the kids,” Baloo says. “Just different ways of seeing it. He wants to plant roots in town, on the ground. You want to soar through the stars. Ain’t nothing wrong with that, just maybe…,”

She side-glances him, a warning. “Yeah?”

“Maybe you should just wait,” he winces, closing an eye. “Until the kids are older, that’s all. Adventures can be dangerous of toddlers and eggs.”

Della spins in her chair, arms crossed, scowl present. “My Uncle Scrooge raised four kids on adventures, Donald and I, and his kids. Have you met Goldie O’Gilt?”

“She still owes me a gold bar and fifty bucks -,”

“We’re Ducks! McDucks!” She spreads her arms to emphasize her point, “Adventure is in our blood, and I’m not going to deny my kids that.” She faces the nest, and sighs. “And there’s no reason for them to be afraid. My babies are amazing, Baloo.”

“Of course they are,” he agrees, quietly. “Never said that, but just wait it out a bit. Until they can handle the hard stuff.”

She swings away from him, “It doesn’t matter what you or Donald think.”

The pain strikes him hard. “Come on, Airhead,” he defends. “Don’t be like that.”

“Uncle Scrooge understands, and as soon as I discover his secret -,” she clamps her beak, sharply, and swallows. “He understands what I’m trying to do, and as soon as the boys have hatched,” she leaves her sentence unfinished.

“What?”

“Nothing, Baloo,” she returns to her work. “I think Uncle Scrooge wanted you to send of a package or something. Some cargo to Shere Khan?”

He sees it in her eyes. He feels it in his soul. He can’t explain this premonition, and doesn’t bring it up to Scrooge when he accepts the offer. Aren’t premonitions suppose to have visions? More concrete evidence? He can’t chalk it up to a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Hindsight is 20/20. Had he asked, had he pushed, would they have given him an answer, or dismissed (or evaded) his inquiries as well as they’ve always done.

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if he wants to find out.

* * *

_Scrooge McDuck Hangs Up Spats After Search for Della Duck Has Been Called Off._

He sits at the bar, sullen and grey. “Oh boy,” he gulps his third glass down. “Oh boy, oh boy. Della, what did you do?”

“Ya’ think he’d keep at it with all that money he has,” Louie says, reading over the counter. “Calling off the search like that tells the world the inevitable has happened, although there’s no body to prove it.”

“Hey,” he slams his fist on the bar. “Don’t go talking about ‘im like that. There’s no one in this world who loves her more than Scrooge McDuck, maybe Donald.”

“Hey there, buddy,” Louie raises his head, defensive. “I didn’t mean any harm.”

He glares at his empty glass. “That shady board wanted him to cut funding the day she disappeared,” he set his cheek on his knuckles, circling the rim with his finger. “I’m sure they had something to do with it.”

Louie cleans a glass, worry surrounding his pupils. “I suppose so, can’t say I ever trusted those buzzards,” he sets the glass down, reaches for another, repeats the process. “Have you talked to any of ‘em?”

“No,” his head lowers. “Scrooge has closed the entire estate up, and Donald has made it clear I’m not wanted. Can’t say I blame him.”

His heart is too swollen for tears. He drinks twenty glasses, and his head is dizzy by time Louie calls Ripcord and Birdie. He doesn’t protest when his old flying buddy pats his shoulder and drags him to his plane.

“She’s gone,” he mumbles, slouched in the co-pilot chair. “She’s gone. I should’ve known.”

“Don’t go doing that,” Ripcord chides. “Won’t do a lick of good. She was an adult, Baloo. She made her choice.” He shouts to the back, “Launchpad, get Baloo a blanket. He’s shivering a mess.”

He’s an awkward, bumbling teen. Orange hair. Bright eyes. Baloo remembers when he was just a small duckling crashing into chairs and table tops. “On it Pops,” the late teen reassures, gripping Baloo’s underarms. “Steady Baloo, don’t need you throwing up on me.”

“Sorry, Airhead,” he mumbles, head rolling to the side.

* * *

He doesn’t take another student.

He navigates on his own. He gets where he needs to be.

The days get longer, moving to weeks to months, to years. A decade passes as business wanes. He flies higher than ever before, choosing birds and clouds over people on most days, but he’s still Baloo, relying on the bare necessities and fresh drinks at Louie’s.

He takes orders, drops them off, usually a little late but always intact. The clients pay acceptable wages, no worse than Scrooge McDuck on that first day. He can’t say there’s any joy. Any entertainment. His co-pilot seat remains vacant for ten years.

That is, until, a stowaway finds his way.

“Cloud Kitkicker,” the boy plops in the chair, “and we really should go.” He looks out the window where a smaller plane zips plane, guns ready for aiming, “One of their bullets are gonna hit us eventually.”

Baloo is confused and surprised, and maybe a little angry too, which is only natural when you’re plane is getting shot at, but there’s excitement. This kid kicks on his door loudly, a memory stirring in his chest. His confidence, his aerial knowledge. He knows this feeling.

He’s never put the little girl, young woman, mother, and former pilot to the back of his heart. She has her place upfront, and he knows this is what makes it so easy for them today.

He smirks, determined, and grips the controls.

“Alright kid,” he laughs, going for a nosedive. “Hold onto your cap, Little Britches. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was more fun than I realized. I really, really, really want Baloo, Rebecca, Kit, Molly, and Louie to show up in DuckTales in some capacity, preferably present time since Kit and Molly would work extremely well with HDLW. 
> 
> Also, they had monkeys/primates in TaleSpin. It makes complete since because duh, Louie and The Jungle Book. I want to see the world expand and discover how they're going to handle the variety in "species" in the show. I can go into a big full blown rant about Cape Suzette.
> 
> Lots of big cats. Lots of apex predators. Lots of predators in general. 
> 
> HDL think Cape Suzette isn't as cool, but they've got cliff turret guns. They use them. The city is wild, and I want the kids to get in that. One day. Soon.


End file.
